Learning To Kill
by Caffine4Me
Summary: Tom Riddle has always had a blackness in his soul about his father, his filthy muggle father. One night he sets out to kill him, but can he do it? Rated PG13 because it might get a little violent, and I don't wanna get in trouble.


This is just kind of my idea of how Voldemort murdered his father and grandparents, since we all know he did it. His first murder, we're assuming. Or at least his first murder done by his own hands (or wand or whatever).

Tom walked silently down the dark street. A cold breeze blew past him, whipping his black cloak around him. Forebodingly a crack was heard above, the sound of thunder far away. To the teen, all was soundless. He was so consumed by what he was doing that he heard nothing, not the thunder or the muffled sound of his feet or the clock striking midnight. Tom himself had set the task before him. It seemed ages ago that he had sat before the roaring fire of the Slytherin grate, plotting this night. At the time everything had seemed fit, everything would work out. Now, as he practically glided to the huge mansion, doubt seized through him.

It wasn't as though he doubted his skill. Tom would be able to murder them, no problem. For months he had studied this curse, and he knew exactly how to perform it. This wasn't what annoyed him. Uncertainty filled the empty spaces of his mind. Shaking it off like a dog shakes off water, Tom quickened his pace. He was determined to reach the mansion before he gave in.

Staring straight ahead at the heavy oak door, Tom sighed heavily. Remembering the things he had considered before coming, Tom pulled a wooden wand slowly out of his pocket. Closing his eyes in silent resignation, Tom muttered the words of a magical spell.

"Alohamora." The door popped open with a clack, and Tom walked smoothly in. Warily he crossed the ribbon of light cast from the shining moon outside the high glass window. Looking around as he entered a dark hallway, Tom heard quiet voices from a nearby room and took that path. Stopping outside the second door on the right, the teen lowered his head. Again thinking of everything that had been forced to happen due to them…Hands shaking, Tom slammed the door open.

Three people sat in chairs around a rather long dinner table. They wore what was obviously dinner clothes, which was odd since it was midnight. Of the three people, two were men. Closest to the door, therefore closest to Tom, was a man with balding gray hair. He looked to be in his mid-fifties. His eyes were a cold steel colored gray, matching almost perfectly the steel effect of his lips. Next to this man was a woman, near the first man's age. She had a blank face, nevertheless showing pure hatred with every line carved into it. Gray hair that had once been blonde hung lank at her shoulders. Black eyes sparkling in the cold light, she may have been pretty if not for the disgusted look etched on her face. Across from this woman was the last man. He had dark black hair that was cut smartly just past the forehead line. No older than forty-three, the man looked a year or two past his age. The look on his face showed utter distaste, as though there was nothing that pleased him. Cold black eyes shone with a dark light. It was he that interested Tom most. It was also he that spoke.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" His voice as hard as his eyes, the man stood as he spoke. He was about 6"7', which was only four inches taller than Tom. Shaking badly once more, Tom didn't let his feelings effect his voice.

"My name is Tom Riddle. I am the son of Mathilda Arches, the woman you loved and left, father." The last word was spat with such venom it might have come from a snake. The poisonous words made Tom feel stronger, and the look on the youngest man's face added to that strength.

"Mathilda?" the youngest man smiled reminiscently, before speaking again, "Ah yes. Young girl, foolish girl. She never should have tried anything with me when she knew she was a…freak. It was entirely within my rights to turn her out, but I never knew she was…" he left his sentence unfinished. Tom scoffed.

"You never knew? You knew! And yet you let your son stay unconnected to you for years. Your only son. Well, that is unimportant now. For in my eyes there is no connection between us." Tom narrowed his eyes. Thankfully he had inherited little of his father's physical genetics. The black hair, which was easy to manage but sat uneven, showed above both the father and the son's heads. Pointed chins ended both faces. They both had long noses and thin lashes along their eyes. However Tom's eyes were dark green, like his mother's. His slender form was his mother's. The thin shoulders, sharp shoulder blades, skinny hips, long fingers, were his mother's.

"Tom, turn the boy out. There is no use to him." The older man, Tom Riddle Senior's father, directed his adult son. Both men nodded to each other, their cold eyes locking. Still standing in the doorway, the younger Tom raised his wand arm. Confronted with the piece of wood, all the others stopped dead in their tracks.

"You, you got that, um…talent, from you mother?" Riddle asked with what looked like a suddenly dry throat. Tom grinned, nodding slowly. Riddle and his parents gulped. They tried not to show their fear on their faces, but the elderly couple's eyes had glazed over with terror. In comparison Riddle, though a little paler than normal, kept the same expression on his face. He smiled, obviously trying for comforting, but it lacked human emotion. Riddle opened his mouth to speak, but Tom interrupted him.

"Don't try for fatherly acts now. It's too late to try and befriend me. I hate you with every fiber of my being." His words echoed strangely around the cavernous dinging hall. The echoes quieted the doubts still circling in the teen wizard's mind. Thoughts of his mother rose to the surface, and Tom's hand tightened on his wand. She never would have died if this man, who did not deserve to be called father, had accepted her. If he had at least helped her after he found out she was a witch then his mother would have been alive. Her death was entirely Riddle's fault. The lack of good doctors supplied her during labor had been the medical reason. A broken heart, given to her by this man in front of him, had been the true reason. Tom knew it deep inside. Riddle swallowed something that had stuck in his throat when Tom had spoken.

"Oh child, son…Tom…" Riddle stated in a voice filled with fake love. Anger coursed through the teen as he heard these words. He mutely cursed his mother for naming him Tom, the filthy Muggle name of this horrid man. It seemed beyond his mental reach as to why his mother would do this, but the answer wasn't all that hard. Mathilda Arches had loved Tom Riddle with all her heart. To prove this to him, even after her death, the woman had named her son Tom. Tom pulled his arm back to use a spell.

"I don't want to hear your petty excuses. You don't deserve life. You don't deserve my love, or my pity. You deserve nothing, nothing but death. For what you have done." the teen hissed the words. Careful not to slip into Parseltongue, Tom continued to speak in that same snake-like tone, "If you deserved the love my mother gave you, which I highly doubt, then you disgraced that and yourself by casting her out. This makes you deserve none of my time, except the time it takes to kill you." Riddle's eyes widened.

"Kill me? Surely you wouldn't do that. I, your father. Admittedly I am not the best father this world has seen, but I still am your flesh and blood. It is still my blood that runs through your veins, boy. Think about it." Riddle spoke smoothly.

"I have. True that it is your blood that runs through my veins, it is also true that Mathilda Arches blood runs alongside yours. And you spilt her blood. You drained her of the will to live, therefore killing her slowly with each passing second."

"How could you think that? I loved your mother. She betrayed my trust by not telling me what she was in the first place. I left her when she broke my heart. I fully intended to return, I swear it. But she dropped off the face of the earth. I could find her no where, and I had no idea of you."

For a moment Tom was almost persuaded. He could see that Riddle looked sincere, but that spark of a lie was hidden deep in the blackness of his eyes. With a growl he decided now was the time to end it.

"Goodbye, Father." Tom said, getting his wand ready for the spell. He watched with a grin as Riddle and his parents tried desperately to escape the room. None of them could, however. They didn't get very far at all. "Avada Kedavra!" screeched the teen wizard. His grandfather fell to the floor without a sound, horror written plainly on his face. Mrs. Riddle, Tom's grandmother, screamed. Without so much as a warning, Tom repeated the spell aiming his wand at her now. After she was cold on the ground, Tom rounded on his father.

"Tom, you wouldn't do this. To me, your own flesh and blood. Your father." Riddle pleaded, begging for his life. Grief passed over Tom's face as he thought about what killing his father would mean. He struggled with the wand, his hand shaking. He couldn't leave any of them alive or he would be caught. Riddle gave a cough, just barely enough to conceal a chuckle. All the doubt and pity left him, and, face hardened, Tom spoke the words that sealed his father's death.

"Avada Kedavra."

Riddle fell dead to the floor. Tom sank down as well, shaking from head to foot. At first he felt tears slipping from his eyes. 'What have I done!' he thought, 'I've killed my father. The only family I had, could have possibly had.' As feelings of sorrow for his murders coursed through him, he started to sob.

After a few moments, however, the shaking of his body turned to something else. The sound of the tears and sobs turned to a wild crazed laughter. Tom felt good, like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He turned and strode from the house, locking the door on his way out.

"The foolish Muggles will never suspect a thing." Tom said quietly. He looked up at the great mansion with it's many windows and amazing structure. With a swift movement he kicked it. Laughing again, he strode a few steps away to Disapperate. Something at the bottom of his heart was gnawing at him, something was telling him that he hadn't really enjoyed that. But his mind told him to ignore the ache he felt. The rest of his body was on such a rush of adrenaline it didn't bother him. Tom grinned, for he had found he liked murder. With a swish of his cloak and a popping sound he was gone.

A/N: I was kind of going for an angle of him disliking killing at first, and it changed. Thanks in kind to any who review. You can give yourselves a pat on the back. v


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